


Tempermental

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael was nothing if not temperamental...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempermental

Michael was nothing if not temperamental. David had known this, known this from the start. It was, in truth, part of what had drawn him to the boy, beyond the sultry gaze of blue eyes under heavy brows, the wild curl of dark hair and the pout of incredibly kissable full lips. Perfection in human form; save the human part of it. Michael was at the prime of his life, and as far as David was concerned, it was practically his duty to see to it that Michael's perfection never faded. Even if that perfection was brash, passionate, abrupt, rude, and all too full of testosterone.

Perhaps his approach hadn't been the wisest, in hindsight. He frowned even now to think back on it, fingers rubbing idly over his chest as if to touch scars that weren't there, the places where two sharpened horns had pierced - suddenly, painfully - through his body. Bone, not wood, not enough to kill him, but enough that he had blacked out, with a final surge of unexpected satisfaction that Michael had proven himself to be so powerful, so passionate, and so determined to protect his family. Such a pity that passion hadn't been correctly channeled or directed. Harnessed. David wouldn't make that mistake again.

He'd woken up several days later at sundown to find that he'd been dumped unceremoniously back in the cave with the remains of his boys, which had quickly enough returned to ash and dust. He'd mourned them briefly, vibrantly, and left Santa Carla out of respect. His boys may have been rather simple in their single-minded pursuit of pleasure, but they were still his boys, and their loss was hard to take.

He shed no tear for Max. Max was a relic of an age long past, who'd tried to fit in with the changing times in appearance, but failed in attitude. David was relieved to be rid of his control.

For a time he traveled up and down the coast of California, taking victims like lovers in seedy bars, dallying in the nightlife of the big cities. It was easy enough to get by, with no one to look after but himself. But eventually he found himself drawn back to the familiar cliffs and shores of Santa Carla, the light and the noise of the boardwalk. Michael.

Michael was there when he at last returned to the cave, sitting perched on the side of the dust-filled fountain, uneasy and restless. His hands flicked at a cigarette nervously - a habit he must have acquired in David's absence - before holding it to his lips and taking a long drag. David regarded him quietly for a moment through narrowed eyes, enjoying the way his lips pursed around the filter, almost sensual, the cigarette held between two fingers that were almost too slender for a man. Then he stepped down closer into the cave, intentionally letting his shoes scuff the floor to announce his presence.

Michael was on his feet in an instant, whirling to face him with anger, and no hint of surprise. "You. I knew you were alive, I knew it. What the hell have you done to me, David?!"

David regarded him curiously, striding forward to stand within arms reach of him. He plucked the cigarette out of Michael's fingers and took a drag. "Nice," he noted, exhaling, and handed the cigarette back. "And to answer your question, I haven't done anything to you. In fact, the way I remember it, it was rather the opposite." He crossed the room to where he'd left his chair - the grand, old fashioned wheelchair that had always struck him as suitably throne-like - and pulled off the tattered drop cloth he'd covered it with. It came away in a cloud of dust. How long had he been gone? Months? A year?

"Don't you turn your back on me," Michael was saying, and when David turned to lounge in the chair, he found Michael had followed to stand a few feet in front of him, blue eyes icy, shooting daggers, and he flicked the butt of the cigarette away angrily. "Don't think you can just waltz back here and pretend that nothing's happened, pretend you didn't - "

"Nothing's happened?" David leaned forward in the chair fast enough that it made Michael flinch back, and he knew that for all Michael's poise and gesturing, the ice in David's eyes could be far colder. "Nothing, like you not killing everyone, taking away everything that was dear to me? I remember all too well what happened, Michael. And if you want me to remain civil, it would be in your best interest to sit down and tell me what it is you're going on about instead of standing there and yelling."

Michael sat.

For a long moment he said nothing, merely staring at David, and David noticed for the first time how tired he looked, how drained. "You really aren't - you didn't...." Michael started, then stopped helplessly, seeming almost at a loss for words. Finally the boy let his head hang, let his eyes fall closed. "I keep coming back here," he said softly. "I can't stop myself. I thought it was you - I was sure you were calling me. There's this ache... I thought you wanted me to suffer for what I'd done. I thought that's why you never came back to me."

David watched him silently through the exchange. The words were raw, and without guile, the last thing he'd expected from the boy. He leaned forward, reaching out with an easy grace to curl his gloved fingers around Michael's forearm. For his honestly, Michael deserved some in return. "I have no desire to punish you, Michael. You did what you had to, to protect your clan. I can't fault you for doing what I would have in your position."

Michael stared at the hand on his arm, but made no move to pull away. "Then why do I keep coming back here? Star said I was obsessed, she..." he gave a short, barking laugh, bitter and hollow. "She's been gone for six months, and I can't even care that she left. I can't stay away from this place, I hardly know my own family anymore...." He looked up, his expression raw, desperate. "What's happening to me, David?"

He regarded Michael for a long moment, reminded vividly of how young Michael still was, despite the boy's bravado. "I think you already know," he said finally, slowly. Best to let Michael walk this path on his own, this time. He wouldn't force his hand now; Michael had to come to the realization for himself. "It's why you're here, isn't it? Why you've been waiting for me to come back. Wanting me to come back."

Michael's gaze shifted away, saying nothing, but the flush to his cheeks belied that David had struck a nerve. He wet his lips - a tantalizing swipe of pink across their fullness - and swallowed. "Was it just because of Max, that you tried to turn me?"

David smiled then, and let his hold on Michael's wrist loosen, slip down to catch his hand and stroke the back of it with his thumb. "I noticed you far before Max did. It was a coincidence that he targeted your family. I wanted you the moment I saw you."

"And now?" Michael's eyes turned to him, equal parts desperate and challenging.

"I'm here, aren't I?" He let the words sink in for a moment, then let go of Michael's hand, leaning back in the chair and speaking softly. "If you want it, I will give you everything I have. Make you a prince of the night, preserve your beauty in immortality. I will be your companion every step of the way, your friend or lover should you choose. But you must choose it, once and for all. No going back this time, Michael."

Michael stood, slowly, silently, head lowered and eyes to the ground. Then he stepped forward, one knee just shy of brushing David's thigh, but didn't touch him. "I've though about this a thousand times, in a thousand different ways," he said softly. "I've told myself the consequences over and over. But no matter what I do, the answer's always the same." He reached out, hesitant and trembling, to take David's hand from where it sat against the arm of the chair, lifting it and leaning down to nuzzle the gap of bare skin that appeared between his arm and his jacket. David felt the intake of breath on his skin; saw the shudder that ran through the boy, and in that moment he could taste Michael's hunger almost more acutely than his own.

"Well?" he asked softly, and Michael pressed his lips to his wrist.

"I can't say no to you, David," he answered, voice a little helpless, but strong. Blue eyes met his, determined now, with none of the previous fear. "This is what I am, isn't it? You saw that from the beginning. Maybe I'm human now, but in my heart I've always been like you. I want it."

David gave a slow nod, pulling a small switchblade from his jacket pocket and flicking it open, offering it to Michael, handle first. "Well then," he told the boy, letting a smile warm his words, "You know what to do."

~~~~


End file.
